Women of the Opera: Meg
by storytellers
Summary: “Well, I won’t take insults to my intelligence from a man who’s obviously too blinded by hate to see reason and too scared to even try being happy because being miserable is so much simpler!”
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I absolutely do not own PotO or the songs used in this fic. The song "Shine" used in later chapters is from the movie Barbie and the Twelve dancing princesses.

A/N: Dear readers, it will mean the world to me if you review this story and the other WotO stories. I appreciate your opinion, flames and all and it's really so easy to review. Make my day, will you? Pleeeeeease :)

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**_Perceptions of Goodness and Beauty_**

_First installment in the Women of the Opera Challenge_

**Prologue**

Luck was on Marguerite Giry's side when a handsome young gentleman appeared at her door. But the reason she felt fortunate when that happened was not the one you might have imagined.

She and her mother had been about to leave Paris. With the Opera Populaire in ruins, the only job proposal they had recived for now was in Lion. That fact had kept Meg in a bad mood for over a week now. She had grown up in the opera and she loved it. More than that - she lived and breathed it. It was her world. To say she was reluctant to leave it would be an understatement.

And just when it had seemed she would just have to live with her mother's decision, Albert Chevalier had appeared. He was a young man of considerable wealth (and looks but Meg hardly noticed that) who had just bought the Opera Populaire and requested their assistance in reopening it.

After much consideration, Mme Giry had decided they should stay after all.

"Back to the Phantom's theatre we go." Meg sang to herself triumphantly when that decision was made.

Like many, she was fascinated with the mysterious Phantom. Paris was still gossiping after his grand entrance and even grander escape. Unlike most, she knew people who knew him. She had been trying for years to get her mother to tell her all she knew of him and had finally gotten her wish after the New Year Masquerade. Mme Giry had already just told the Viscount the whole story. Maybe that was why she had finally relented and retold the tale for her daughter too. Thus, Meg now knew the secret of how the Phantom (or Erik as his real name was), had come to live in the opera house.

She had always felt sorry for him ever since she was old enough to understand what he really was - a genius born in a world that lacked the wisdom to understand him.

As far as the Phantom was concerned, Meg had a little secret she had only shared with her mother. On the night of the premiere of Don Juan Triumphant, after the chandelier fell, she had managed to arrive in the Phantom's lair before the angry mob. Just in time to hear Christine and Raoul's song fading in the distance and the last of the mirrors that had stood along the wall fall to pieces. She had seen him go and he had seen her. Their eyes had locked for a moment, maybe just long enough for him to understand she would not lead the mob in his direction. Then he was gone, leaving in her hands a mask and a mystery.

She had not let anyone touch his lair. She had convinced them that it was better not to touch anything in 'this devilish place'. The mob had been on the verge of setting it on fire but Meg had convinced them that would be dangerous. They were in an underground tunnel after all. Who was to say if they would be able to get out in time?

Later, she had asked for the key to Christine's room. Her mother had given it to her, not without worry. Mme Giry had guessed what her daughter needed the room for and didn't like the idea of her going to the cellars. But Meg knew her mother would prefer to grant her entrance trough the mirror than have her going down more dangerous routes. A blonde angel she may be, but she was also really stubborn.

So Meg would go down there whenever she was feeling restless to check if everything was in order, sometimes play a piece on the harmonium and wait.

She believed he would return. He belonged to this place as she felt she did. What would he do without his beloved opera house? And what would the opera do without him?


	2. Albert

**Chapter 1**

**Albert**

Albert Chevalier was every bit as appealing as the Viscount de Changy, despite the fact that he lacked his title. He had recently become wealthy designing dresses for Paris's richest ladies. They said the clothes he made were works of art and it wasn't far from the truth. His fame had allowed him to open several salons and despite his young age he ran them with the skill of a true businessman.

But buying the opera house had been a decision based on sentiment. This time the businessman had stepped back in favor of the naïve enthusiast who kept the twinkle in the young man's clever blue eyes. In his mind it seemed very simple. He loved opera and he could afford it so why not buy one? Well, yes, this one had been almost burned down in the course of some rather terrible events but that only made it more interesting. He believed he was up to the challenge to restore its glory.

Upon hearing this, his older brother, Jaques, who was a very down-to-earth man and chief of the Parisian police department, had just shook his head and sighed.

"But if all else fails, he could always charm his way out of the mess he's created." Jaques consoled himself.

It was true that the younger Chevalier brother possessed charm that could almost be called magical. He could talk easily to anyone, from paupers to kings and whatever mood he was in inevitably rubbed off on everyone around him. It was a bit of a blessing that Albert was almost always in a good mood.

That same charm had helped Albert find a patron within a month of buying the opera. To be frank, the good-hearted old count that had agreed to it didn't honestly believe Albert's plans would succeed. But after two hours with talking to the lad, he decided he had enough money to afford wasting some of them on a young man who was contagiously optimistic and touchingly devoted to his goal.

Finding a cast however was a different matter. Those who had left could not be persuaded to return. Madame Giry, the ballet mistress and her daughter were ones of the few who had stayed, along with some orphan girls from the ballet and chorus who had nowhere else to go. Mme Giry and Meg had been there to greet him when he went to take a look after the repairs had been completed.

"It's glamorous, isn't it, Messer?" Meg commented, while they were giving him a tour.

Glamorous, yes, he thought. Glamorous indeed. There were twice as many naked gold women as before and they had been joined by little winged cherubs. His personal opinion was that it had become a little too crowded on the walls and beneath the ceiling. But it was his own fault that he had let the decorator's imagination run away with him.

They were now standing on the stage. Meg walked to the centre and did a few ballet steps.

"I'd like to see all these seats filled again." she sighed as she did a final pirouette.

Albert's smile broadened as he watched her.

"Even with you alone on stage, it would be a sight worth paying for."

Meg blushed as her mother shook her head good-naturedly at the open flirtation of the young man.

"I'm afraid, Messer, that as proud as I am of my daughter's talents, she would not be enough to make the Opera Populaire work again. What exactly are your plans?"

Albert raised a finger.

"Our plans. As I told you before, Mme, you'll be my equal partner. I couldn't do without your help. For a start… I confess I have no idea where to find anyone who would willingly join our cast."

"Oh, if it's a question of just anyone, there are more than enough people in Paris in need of a warm bed and some payment. But I'm afraid that won't suffice."

"Why not?"

"Because they would be bad singers and dancers."

"But can't some of them be taught?"

"I suppose they could but it would take years."

"Years we do not have, madam. I spent so much on fixing the damage from the fire that I can afford a year without profit at the most. I know this is not how things are supposed to be done but what can you do with a bunch of young girls for one year?"

Mme Giry hesitated.

"Perhaps they could perfect particular steps. But what of the singers?"

"Well, I suppose they'll have to perfect particular notes too. Let's say mi and la. Isn't there a whole opera containing just those two notes? No?" he faked surprise as Meg laughed. "All right, I know it will be very hard. I'll hire a teacher. Maybe we could outsmart the circumstances, choose a score that's easy to perform but appealing to the audience nonetheless. There is nothing to it, Mme, we shall have to try."

Mme Giry sighed and spread her hands in a gesture of acceptance.

"I suppose we shall."

"If the Phantom was here to teach the singers, they probably could become good in an year. He was a great teacher." Meg commented.

Albert's eyebrows shot up.

"The Phantom?"

"My daughter's mouth is sometimes faster than her brain, M." Mme Giry said quickly and gave Meg a look. She was afraid that talk of the Opera Ghost would scare and discourage the gentleman.

Albert however merely seemed interested.

"And how were you able to determine his teaching skills? I don't suppose he taught you?"

"He taught my friend Christine Daae, Messer." Meg answered. "And she could sing like an angel."

"Oh, yes, I know." Albert nodded. "I have seen Miss Daae. In fact, I was here that fateful night at the premiere of Don Juan Triumphant." He continued suddenly excited. "Is it true that the opera was written by the Phantom himself? The man and the mystery… Coincidentally, my brother is head of the Police department. He doesn't like unsolved mysteries; he promptly attempts to solve them. After the phantom disappeared, he di**d** everything he could to find out the whole story. Who he was. How he came to live in the opera in the first place. And he uncovered a rather interesting theory, involving a boy from a traveling fair and one or several young ballerinas who may have offered the boy sanctuary in the halls of the opera house."

Mme Giry paled visibly in contrast to her daughter who flushed bright pink and started looking around and playing with the skirt of her dress. Albert eyed them curiously, concluding at once that they must know something about the event. Apparently ballerinas weren't taught to act very well, or at least not in real life.

"And how did your brother come upon such a theory, M.?" Mme Giry asked.

"Oh, just the stories of a few retired policemen who claim to have been called to the scene of the murder of one of the gypsies. According to them, people were talking about "the Devil's child" with a face so distorted it could not be called human. And there were ballerinas. It must have happened around the time when you were very you young, Mme Giry." He said, the corners of his mouth twitching mischievously.

"I can't say I remember, M." Mme Giry said carefully.

Albert's smile suggested he did not believe her but he didn't press her further. Instead he walked several steps along the stage and took a good look around, his eyes lingering on the shadowy darkness above them and then on the reconstructed chandelier which had not been hung yet and sat at the corner of the stage.

"The people of Paris know the Phantom as a murderer with a horrifying face, the face of the devil. And an unsolved mystery. But who was he really, what do you think, miss Giry?" he asked, looking at Meg this time.

"A talented but unfortunate man." Meg answered with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"My brother seemed seemed inclined to feel more compassion than fear for him, too." Albert admitted. "He has seen enough cruelties performed on those who are different in some way. He has tried to stop such acts but it's hard. He claims that our society creates its own monsters. And it should not be so surprised when those who have been oppressed their whole lives finally strike back."

"Your brother is a wise man." Mme Giry said.

"Do you agree, M.?" Meg asked, suddenly looking at him as if she was trying to read his thoughts on his forehead. "Would you feel compassion for the Phantom?"

Albert seemed to be giving the matter some serious thought.

"I cannot say for sure without having met the man, Miss Giry. It's hard to determine if he's a monster or a victim. Maybe a bit of both."

"It doesn't matter who he is." Mme Giry cut in. "He is gone now. We are here and we have work to do. If you are finished with your tour M., I suggest we call the papers immediately to let people know we're recruiting. Delaying wouldn't do."

She strode purposefully to the exit. Speaking of Erik made her sad. She had wanted to save him but it had proven too hard. When he had fallen in love with her talented almost-daughter, she had foolishly allowed herself to believe that if Christine accepted him, so would the world. Of course, neither had happened. Like most naïve hopes, this one had met a bad end.


	3. Letters and Notes

**Chapter 2**

**Letters and notes, friendly neighbors and ghosts**

"We need to find more money." Albert declared upon entering the small office he had set up for Mme Giry.

It was six months into the one year period they had to make the opera run again. The chandelier was back at its rightful place and they had recruited new singers and dancers. But the results they were achieving with them so far were, in Mme Giry's opinion, pitiful. They were still too poorly trained to begin work on anything specific, not to mention an appropriate score had not yet been found.

"More money?" Meg asked.

Madam Giry sighed.

"The music teacher and the support of the cast without performances are proving too much, aren't they? I anticipated this. I'm afraid I haven't got a solution."

"Why don't we make a benefit performance, Albert?" Meg suggested.

"And who would perform for free? As of now, our cast is good for nothing." her mother shook her head. "No, I'm afraid that would not work, unless you can find a famous performer who will do us a favor without asking any money."

Meg didn't say anything but she retired to her room earlier than usual and she was currently writing a letter. She had spent a whole hour working up the courage to begin and even now she had only gotten as far as the first two words:

_Dear Christine,_

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_Dear Meg,_

_I was glad to receive a letter from you. Raoul and I are indeed very happy. I think of Versai as my home now. It__'__s so much more peaceful than Paris. As for your request, my dear friend, I cannot pretend that I didn__'__t feel the urge to refuse right away. That place still holds too many horrors in my view and returning won__'__t be easy. But you and your mother have done so much for me, I cannot let you down. Raoul is against it but you shall have my voice for one night. I know how much you love the Opera Populaire and if you can stand being there after all that happened then perhaps you really belong there. I genuinely wish you to succeed in restoring it. Maybe starting anew will scare away the ghosts of the past. Write to me again when you have organized the details of the benefit. I promise to be at your service._

_Your friend,_

_Christine_

_P.S. So the new owner is a handsome young man? And from your letter he sounds really sweet and charming. My dear Meg, it seems you might have found someone special. If that is so, I__'__m truly glad for you!_

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"Meg, you saved us all with that letter!" Albert scooped her up and spun her in the air. "Everything is sold out! A full house!"

The benefit was is in only a few days. Christine would sing several arias and the small group of the well-trained ballerinas that had remained from the former cast would perform pieces from different operas too. Meg was so happy to dance in front of an audience again that she didn't even mind the long rehearsals her mother put them trough to make sure they were perfect. This performance had to bring them good publicity as well as money.

Albert put her back on the ground and went to the seats to watch the rehearsal. Meg found dancing effortless today. They were all old moves that she had practiced and danced on stage before. She could let herself relax into the routine and let her mind wander to the good old days. The good old days when the Phantom had been more of an entrancing myth than an actual person, his notes were wittily entertaining and the accidents weren't fatal.

And then suddenly she caught a glimpse of a dark masked figure far up above. Meg tripped and almost lost her balance. She stopped in the middle of the dance and fixed her eyes on the spot she had seen the figure. There was nothing there and she tried to convince herself she had imagined it but when she looked at Albert she saw he was standing up and looking in the very same direction, surprise and alarm in his eyes. A moment later he pretended nothing had happened for the sake of the other ballerinas but when he met her eyes a silent confirmation passed between them.

The Phantom had returned.

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The next day Erik had been more than a little surprised to find a note addressed to him pinned to a rope above the stage. The note read:

_Dear O.G.,_

_I__'__d like to welcome you back at the opera house and apologize for my inability to pay you your salary because at this moment I am completely broke. Just out of curiosity, if you are a ghost, why do you even need money? _

_I wanted to let you know that I would do what I can within reason so we can be good friendly neighbors. _

_Let me define reason. _

_Asking me to not call the police and keep box five empty could be considered reasonable with a little imagination on my part. Asking me to clean your lair and rub your feet would not be considered reasonable nor would dropping heavy things on my cast so please don__'__t do those. I wish you a pleasant day of haunting. _

_Yours,_

_Albert_

By the end of the note, Erik was laughing in spite of himself. The boy had some nerve. He had actually written him a note! He set right away on writing a response but it contained a lot less than the usual amount of threats.

And thus the note passing game in the Opera Populaire was resumed. But this time there was an active player on both sides.


	4. Meetings

**Chapter 3**

**Meetings**

Christine Daae did not know how to explain even to herself what made her visit her old dressing room that night. Some strange force drew her there and she felt slightly scared but unable to resist. Come to think of it, Christine Daae had long ago made a habit of feeling this way. She had slipped from her husband's watchful, concerned gaze and walked through the semi-lit corridors. When she reached the familiar door, she found it unlocked. The room was not completely dark because moonlight was filtering through the window. She made two steps inside and stopped short, afraid to go any further. The room was full of flowers as it had been on the night when she had first sung as prima… and she had first met the Phantom in person. She stared at her own pale reflection in the mirror.

And then a dark figure stepped out of the shadows.

"Hello, Christine. I was hoping you would come."

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"Christine! Christine, what's wrong?" Meg hurried after her friend trough the corridors of the opera house, full of celebrating people. The money they had gotten from the benefit had exceeded expectations and the cast were in especially good spirits.

Christine didn't answer, just searched the hall for her husband and when she spotted him, she ran straight into his arms. Meg stopped next to them, still wanting to find out the reason for her friend's distress.

"I've been looking for you." Christine said a little out of breath. "I'm tired, Raoul, let's go home."

The forced smile didn't fool the Viscount.

"Christine, what's happened?" he asked frowning.

When she didn't answer, he put two and two together and got sixteen.

"It's him, isn't it? He's back! Did he hurt you? I'll kill him!"

He started to draw his sword but his wife caught his hand looking around and smiling apologetically at the people who happened to look in their direction.

"No, Raoul, please, there's no need. You're overreacting! He only wanted to see me, that's all. Nothing happened. He just told me I had sung beautifully and asked if I was happy."

Meg was also looking frantically around, anxious that no one should hear this conversation.

"Oh, please, let him be and tell no one he's here." She whispered urgently. "There haven't been any accidents, he's on good terms with Mr. Chevalier and he knows it would be foolish to make his presence known to the cast. The police would come to look for him if he did. Please Messer, this is not your problem."

"Raoul, please, let's just go." Christine joined in.

Finally, Raoul nodded curtly, letting go of his sword. With a quick goodbye to Meg, he took his wife's hand and led her to the carriage. Meg went out to see them off. After they had gone, something made her look up. Far above, on the roof of the opera she thought she saw the edge of a black cape disappear behind a statue and maybe the glint of a white mask.

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Meg went back inside and passed through the crowd in the main hall without noticing it, lost in thought.

Since she had discovered the Phantom's return, she hadn't dared go down to his lair but tonight she felt a strong urge to do just that. She didn't believe he would want to harm her. After all, her mother had saved him and she herself had done him no wrong. She thought the worst he could do was refuse to speak to her and send her back.

So, just as she had done after Christine's debut, she slipped quietly into her friend's old dressing room.

Quite predictably, the Phantom had set the stage for the meeting with his beloved. Bouquets of flowers covered every surface and in the moonlight coming from the windows, she saw a single red rose, tied with a black ribbon, fallen in front of the mirror. As she picked it up, she felt for the man. All this effort and the reception he had received from Christine was clearly not the warmest. It was his own fault, of course, but still… She left the rose on the vanity. Roses were beautiful but too dramatic for her. She preferred wild flowers. They were happier, freer, not spoilt by too much meaning.

Taking a breath, Meg ventured into the passage behind the mirror.

She had become familiar with it by now. But something was different tonight. She imagined she could feel the presence of the Opera Ghost at the other end.

She knew she shouldn't think of him as a ghost. His name was Erik and he was a man like any other. Remarkably talented and very likely remarkably crazy but a man nonetheless.

Lucky for her, the gondolla was there. He had obviously used another route to go back after he had seen Christine. Maybe he had really climbed to the roof and then used another passage to go back to the cellars.

She started making her way across the lake. Soon she could hear music - a slow melancholy tune floating above the water.

Well, what else could she expect under the circumstances? Of course he would be sitting at his organ, being depressed. Not that she could blame him.

It was a beautiful melody but it managed to depress her too, as she listened to it. And when she started making out the lyrics, she decided she hated it.

_Laugh in your loneliness,_

_Child of the wilderness…_

_You have always known _

_Your heart was on its own…_

What normal person would play or sing this when he was already feeling bad? All right, the Phantom didn't qualify as a normal person but still. Maybe he was attempting to drive himself to suicide.

Soon she could see him, sitting with his back to her, just finishing the song on his organ. He was dressed in his usual black, mask and wig in place. He was an entrancing sight, though rather theatrical.

If he noticed her presence he made no sign to show it and she didn't want to interrupt him. She quietly got off the boat and just stood there not quite sure what to do, now that she was here with him. He finally finished playing and turned around. He stared at her for a long time before standing up and taking a step towards her.

Normally Erik would have gotten angry at any trespasser daring to enter his domain. (Not that there were many.) But this was Meg Giry after all, Mme Giry's daughter. He couldn't grab a lasso and strangle her, nor did he have any desire to. He remembered how she had silently watched him go after the Don Juan fiasco. And perhaps it was no mere miracle that his home hadn't been completely destroyed by the mob.

He realized he was making her uncomfortable by just silently looking at her so he spoke gently.

"It is you, I presume, to whom I owe the prefect order this place is in?"

She cast a quick glance around and nodded.

"You seem to have a lot of your mother in you… helping a criminal." He hadn't meant to be sarcastic but the words came out without permission from his brain. "Has she told you the story of so many years ago? Is that why you're here? To show some pity to a monster."

"My mother says she did see a monster that night." Meg replied more calmly than she felt. "But it wasn't you. And I don't pity you."

"Then why are you here?"

She hesitated, then shrugged.

"We have lived in the same opera house for so many years, don't you think it strange that we hardly know each other?"

He seemed taken aback for a second, then, unexpectedly, he chuckled.

She was surprised at how normal it sounded.

Then she felt stupid for being surprised. Had she expected it to echo or what?

Erik entertained the thought of simply sending her away but he had to admit he was happy for the distraction. Mme Giry was too afraid to come down here and Christine's panicked reaction to him earlier had felt like a slap. Did she really think he would hurt her? After the pain he had gone true to let her go?

And Meg had come to see him willingly.

He gestured towards a chair.

"Care to sit?"

She hesitantly obliged.

"And how may I entertain my guest?"

"Well… you could always play for me. I would like that."

Meg was smart enough to realize neither of them could come up with something better on a first meeting.

"Very well then." he agreed, realizing the same thing.

He sat back at the harmonium took a sheet of music and began to play.

Melody after melody came alive under his fingers. Sometimes if it was an aria he sang it.

He was very good, there was no denying that but Meg still found the idea of being hypnotized by his voice ridiculous. She blamed Christine's overactive imagination. Meg herself could be more easily hypnotized by the ticking of the clock in her room.

Or maybe he just wasn't singing for her the way he had sung for Christine. She had no way to compare.

He pulled random music sheets from the top of the organ. Some of the pieces were unfamiliar to her and Meg guessed that they were his work.

You can't be a cold unfeeling monster and write music like that, she thought. But, apparently, being warm and having feelings didn't stop you from killing people.

She had tried to rationalize his behavior many times. The hard part was there was nothing rational about it.

Maybe some of the people he had killed deserved it in some way but not all. What about poor Pinagi? The Phantom had really gone mad at that point, too hurt by Christine's refusal to care about anything much.

History showed men had done even worse things for love.

Meg hated it when love was used as an excuse despite the fact that people did it all the time. Childhood trauma was a far better explanation and she was willing to accept it. It was a very plausible theory that if they lived in a slightly better world Erik could have been a much nicer person…

She caught herself before she could paint in her mind the picture of a really nice man who just needed better skin care products and a little sunshine to improve his mood. It wasn't that simple and she knew it. On top of that she realized that half of the reason she was so interested in him was because she had been jealous of Christine. It was friendly jealousy but it was something all women all over the world experienced towards one another.

She was pulled from her thoughts when he made an unusually long pause, looking at the sheet of music he had pulled from the pile. His movements were somehow forced when he finally placed it in front of himself and started playing.

It was the aria from Hannibal, the one that had made Christine a star overnight. She could have told him it probably wasn't a good idea to play it but he obviously liked depressing himself.

_Think of me, think of me fondly when we__'__ve said goodbye._

_Remember me once in a while; please promise me you__'__ll try._

_When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free_

_If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me… _

He stopped and Meg used the opportunity to stand up quickly. She didn't particularly want to witness a mysterious masked man's emotional breakdown. He would probably really kill her after he had quit crying for Christine…

Or do something else. Killing was the first crime that came to mind for most man faced with a beautiful girl. But, once again, he was not your average man so she decided not to take her chances.

"I should go. It's late. I think everyone's asleep but if someone finds out I'm gone…"

He nodded and also stood up.

"I'll take you back."

The trip back was silent but when they were once again on the other side of the mirror, wanting them to part on friendly terms, she turned to him with a smile.

"Thank you."

She imagined his expression softened in the darkness.

"So, you liked my music?"

"Oh, it was all very beautiful. But it was a little too… serious. Have you never written anything happy? Anything you can whistle to cheer you up?"

Again, the childishness of her question made him laugh. He had a feeling she was deliberately being silly. Other than her seemingly naïve questions, she was anything but a child… especially in physique but that was not a very appropriate thought.

"I suppose I only write music to depress myself." He said, his tone bordering joking. "But if you want to visit me again sometimes and be depressed with me… you're welcome."

She smiled up at him, glad that the heavy atmosphere had lifted.

"Thank you, I will." She said and she hurried out of the room, sparing one final glance at him.


	5. To fall or not to fall

**Chapter 4**

**To fall or not to fall**

Albert hummed to himself as he worked. He had his sleeves rolled up and a hammer in his hand. The young owner of the opera house was trying to fix the bridge above the stage that connected the stagehands' platforms on both sides.

The reason he was the one working on it was that he hadn't been able to hire any stagehands yet. They were too afraid. If all kinds of poor enthusiasts could be persuaded to join the cast blinded by dreams of glory, the same could not be said for working hands. Workers were too practical. So he and some young lads from the chorus had turned into handymen. He was extremely bad at it but very enthusiastic to help. He was so involved that he had even temporarily moved in one of the dormitory rooms until the gala.

Tonight he had been unable to sleep and had decided to get some work done instead. A poor decision, because working so high above the stage on a construction which was currently unstable at best could be very dangerous.

And there was of course the Phantom but they had been quite civil to each other so far, hadn't they? He smirked. He had actually enjoyed the notes passing game. His playing partner was intelligent and witty and the presence of humor in the communication between them was reassuring. It allowed him to feel safe in his own opera house which, he was willing to admit, was just as much the Phantom's.

He shouldn't have felt that safe.

Suddenly the wood beneath his feet gave way and he lost his balance, falling from the bridge. The hammer fell to the floor below with a resounding thud. Albert managed to grab a piece of rope and hang on but from this position he could not climb back. As his hands were tiring fast, he was guaranteed a fall that would break his neck. He couldn't even draw enough breath to scream for help and it would be pointless anyway. The dormitories were too far for him to be heard.

_I knew I would be the cause for my own death one day. I was hoping it wouldn__'__t be so soon._

He struggled to climb the rope but it was no use. His hands only got numb faster and he felt his grip slipping. His eyes squeezed shut with the effort to hold on and just when he thought letting go was inevitable, he felt a hand grasp his wrist. He opened his eyes and looked up to see a face in a white mask.

"Let go of the rope and hold on to me." Said the Phantom of the Opera.

The dark figure had his other hand tightly wrapped in another rope so he could safely lean down from the bridge.

After a few more moments of struggling, Albert was back on his feet and he was pulled off the bridge and to a more solid construction.

"M. Chevalier, I had my reserves about how young you were but as it turns out, you are also an idiot."

"It would seem so." Albert agreed, still panting a little and not trusting his knees fully. "M. … Phantom, shall I call you? We meet at last. Thank you for saving my life, I am now indebted to you."

"You seem to be indebted to a lot of other people too."

"To them I just owe money. And I'm hoping to be able to repay them."

"You believe your bunch of amateurs would be able to make profit?"

"I believe in good, hardworking, enthusiastic people, yes. They have made some progress."

"Not enough."

"Well… They're trying their best. Unlike a lot of pretentious so-called artists and stars. You love this opera; I would have thought it would be your dream too for it to function again… err, after you destroyed it. Not to mention, I cannot possibly pay you a salary if I have no money. Although if you want to call it a salary and not blackmail, you should be prepared to earn it in some way."

The Phantom frowned and gave him a dangerous look.

"How about protecting you from accidents?"

"The ones you yourself cause. Clever. And pointless. I would've thought you would have something better to do. How about giving a bit of advice? What score could we pick that would make our amateurs look and sound good?"

"No such thing has ever been written."

Albert sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I can't understand why you resent my attempt to make something good of this. Have you never tried to do the impossible, M. Phantom?"

The Phantom smiled a bitter, crooked smile.

"Indeed I have. But it remained just as impossible. Good luck, M. Chevalier. You'll need it."

With a swish of his cape he was gone. The next day however the bridge had mysteriously been fixed. Albert smiled to himself and scribbled a quick note of thanks.

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The next time Meg went down to see Erik, he was in a far better mood.

"Come here and listen to this." He said, leading her to the harmonium.

"What is this?" she asked curiously, looking at the notes he had prepared.

"Something happy." He answered, smiling a bit. "To whistle when one is depressed."

She laughed, surprised and delighted that he had paid attention to her words.

The melody turned out to be a waltz and she fought the urge to stand up and start spinning. She would look ridiculous and probably slip and fall into the lake. She settled for tapping her foot in time with the music.

So it wasn't impossible for him to write cheerful things after all. She still remembered that horrible song from last time and was seriously tempted to find the notes and burn them ritually.

All throughout the piece something nagged at the back of her mind. It wasn't until he stopped playing that it finally hit her and she laughed, shaking her head in disbelief.

"It's perfect!"

"Well… Thank you."

"No, I mean, yes, it is perfect but it's also the prefect tune for…" suddenly she fell silent and blushed.

"What?" he prompted her.

"Nothing, just… Could you please play it again?"

He arched an eyebrow but obliged. While he was playing he glanced at her. She had her eyes closed and she was… as far as he could see, she was silently singing something but he couldn't tell what. Reading lips was unfortunately not among his talents so he abruptly stopped playing. Her eyes snapped open.

"What's wrong?" Meg asked.

"Well, looking at you I thought for a moment I had gone deaf. But it couldn't be that because I can still hear the Harmonium. And you have obviously not gone mute either. So what is this?"

"Oh… Well, It's nothing, just something I wrote a while ago. About how I love dancing. And this is the perfect tune for it."

"Sing it."

"Umm… No."

He seemed taken aback.

"No?"

"Well, yes, 'no'. If I sing it in front of you, you will spend the whole time thinking how bad I am compared to Christine."

He mentally admitted that was probably true. Still, he was curious.

"But you forget I have already heard you sing. On stage with the chorus and also once or twice with Christine."

"It's different. I was singing for the audience or for Christine then. I feel uneasy singing just for you."

_Sing, my angel of music! Sing for me!_ His own voice echoed in his head. He frowned; for some reason the memory was unpleasant.

"Sing for yourself then." He said.

She looked a little surprised for a moment; it didn't seem like something he would say. Then she shrugged and started singing.

_There__'__s a place you can go where your heart is free,_

_There__'__s a rhythm that__'__s right for your soul._

_Take a breath, find your courage and make the leap,_

_Cause your feet always know where to go._

_And you dance and you dance in an endless flow_

_In the grace of a perfect design_

_Stepping out of the dark and into the glow_

_And the whole world will see when you shine!_

_You can shine!_

This time she really did stand up to dance, flashing a smile at him. She was obviously having a great time. He watched her, hardly paying attention to what he was playing. It was a very simple piece anyway.

At one point he realized he was staring at her and he had gotten so caught up that he mirrored her expression. He quickly looked back at the keys, worried that he had looked ridiculous. The Phantom of the Opera in a mask and clad in black, smiling goofily at nothing in particular. It wasn't his fault, she was contagious. It wasn't that her dancing technique was that superb, although she did look very pretty as she danced. It was the happiness she radiated as she did it. And her singing was so careless that it sounded like she was just throwing the notes and words out there in the world. It took some time for his ears to get used to it. He had listened to Christine for too long to be able to easily accept something so different. And it wasn't a very good singing. But he had to admit it was a very good… something. If not for Christine, he might have fallen for her.


	6. Divas and other distractions

**Chapter ****5**

**Divas and other distractions**

The arrival of Mme Blandine D'Avignon, their new diva, reminded Mme Giry of La Calrotta, except that Blandine was older and considerably heavier. She came into the opera dressed up and looking like a giant walking purple pumpkin. Mme Giry had nothing against fat people in general but the way this woman bossed everyone around, aided by her impressive stature turned her weight into just another reason to dislike her.

Her dressing room which was quite large became stuffy within five minutes of her arrival. It was filled with all types of useless junk and an incredible number of pillows.

When she first heard her sing, Mme Giry half-expected something to drop on her head from above the stage. Not that it was really bad. But it was the usual case of a lot of voice and no feeling at all. When no accident occurred during this or any of her next rehearsals, Mme Giry started to fully appreciate just how persuasive Albert could be. If he had convinced the Phantom of the Opera to simply stuff his ears with cotton and bear D'Avignon' s singing, that was an act worthy of a medal.

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"Erik… Do you consider me a friend?" Meg asked out of nowhere.

The question genuinely surprised him and he hesitated a second before nodding.

"Then I want to ask you something." Meg said carefully. "And I'll really appreciate it if you try not to get angry or in a bad mood or… You can just refuse to answer."

"And what you want to know is?"

"Why did you fall in love with Christine?"

Once again the question was not one he would have expected. He frowned.

"Why would you want to know that?"

"I'm just asking as a friend. Friends ask things like that."

"Is that the only reason?"

She rolled her eyes.

"No, I intend to use this information to plot your demise!"

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, it just seems like a strange thing to ask."

"Is there ice cream on the moon?"

"Pardon?"

"Is there ice cream on the moon? That would be a strange thing to ask."

He laughed.

"You're unbelievable."

"Will you answer me?"

"Answering this is not as simple as it seems."

Meg crossed her arms.

"I hate it when people say that. It just means there is a very simple explanation but they don't know it."

"You've decided to give me a hard time, haven't you." He said half angrily but the truth was, he didn't mind talking about Christine as much as he had used to. Had he begun to forget her? After obsessing over her for so long, it seemed strange. He decided he had to answer Meg's question for his own benefit as well as hers. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, reluctantly going back to his first encounters with Christine back when she was a child.

"Her voice was supreme."

"Oh, come on! You don't fall in love with a voice!"

"No, you don't." Erik agreed with a sad smile. "Not for long anyway or she would not have left me, if I do say so myself. I guess I was in love with the idea of her. The idea of this beautiful creature of light who, I fooled myself, could learn to love me back after I'd taught her so much. She was the only one I managed to connect to. She trusted me. She thought I was an angel, not a beast. Once I had felt what it was like to be adored by someone, I wanted more, I wanted it all. One touch of her hand meant so much simply because she was the first one to ever touch me with admiration and not fear…"

He wisely stopped talking before all this talk about Christine provoked his brain to start sending ghost signals to the parts of his body where Christine's hands had been… and some places they had never been. He knew himself and his imagination, though a blessing for such a lonely man, was sometimes too vivid for his own good.

When he fell silent Meg just stood up and kissed his left cheek. He drew back, startled.

"You should learn to receive more of these and stop thinking it's some kind of supernatural occurrence. I didn't feel specially privileged whenever Christine held my hand and I don't think you should either. At the very least, you were… her friend, just like me. I'll see myself off."

When the gondola disappeared from sight, he slowly let out a breath.

He hadn't had the courage to tell her she had been the second person to ever kiss him. Whatever he had to do with other women, it never involved kissing. And even if it had, it would hardly count when there were money on the line. True, this was just a simple kiss on the cheek, not like the one Christine had given him but also unlike Christine's, it was not provoked by death threats to her lover.


	7. Revelations

**Chapter 6**

**Revelations**

Most of the new chorus boys were just that – boys. They were young enough to be enthusiastic about what they were doing. Unfortunately, that meant they were too young to bother with disciplining themselves.

It was around midnight and the boys, obviously a little drunk, had appeared on stage carrying candles and screeching so badly that Erik didn't even bother to try recognizing the poor opera they were crippling.

The reason he was even around was because he was fixing another piece of equipment above the stage. He would never be able to explain to himself why he was doing it. Maybe because it was the only way, however uncertain, to secure a salary.

"I wonder if the Handyman Ghost is up there." One of the boys said loudly, looking up. "The curtain mechanism needs fixing. I tried to repair it today but I can't seem to get it right."

Erik's jaw dropped. Handyman Ghost?! That was it, his reputation was ruined.

"I bet it will work in the morning." Another one said.

"You really believe the Phantom of the Opera is back here? I heard he died. I think it's just Albert working overtime and trying to cheer us up by convincing us there's a supernatural force helping us."

"Albert is awful at fixing things. And sending himself notes? Come on, he's crazy but not that much. Plus, there's nothing supernatural about the Phantom."

"Yeah. I saw him on the premiere of Don Juan. He was a man of flesh and blood. A murderer none the less." Another boy said darkly. "He killed two people in this very opera."

"Has that ever been proved, Gaston?"

"Well, not officially. But he sent threatening notes to the managers and then people died. And he certainly caused the fire and kidnapped a girl."

"But he let her go. He must have been really in love with her, as they say."

"But there's nothing threatening about the notes he sends to Albert. I read one of them when I was up there." He pulled one of the black-rimmed envelopes out of his pocket. "It was attached to one of the ropes. I'll give it to Albert tomorrow. I know I shouldn't have read it but, oh well, he wouldn't have left it at such an obvious place if it was really that secret. Listen to this:

_Dear Albert, _

_In answer to your question about the number of singers in the chorus, yes, there are more than enough of them to render the audience permanently deaf. If you still think they__'__re not enough you could hire a few donkeys, no one will know the difference. Your diva often sounds like a sheep anyway. "_

Far above Erik chuckled to himself along with the boys below.

"_Also, I want to make it clear that:_

_No, Meg Giry is not my new pet project. I don__'__t think her voice is very good, although I have to admit that she will certainly sound and look better than Blandine. Especially if I__'__m the one teaching her._

_No, I still cannot think of an opera that could be successfully performed by what you call your cast. Although I do have to admit they have made some progress, even with that idiot of a teacher you__'__ve hired for them. Gerard Renard especially has some potential."_

The young man in question looked awestruck.

"Hey, you just received praise from the Opera Ghost!" one of the others teased him. "You might be the next Christine Daae. And he will kidnap you to his secret lair!"

"Very funny." Gerard punched him lightly on the shoulder.

The boy who had been reading folded the note and put it back in the envelope.

"Well, he doesn't sound that bad, does he? I mean, he lived in the opera for years and he didn't kill anyone. Sure, he caused accidents but maybe some of the former owners deserved it. And when they were good he mostly just stayed put. Why else would he start repairing things now? He's not exactly very polite but he does seem on our side."

"It's because of Albert. This man is capable of convincing a wolf to nurse a baby lamb and not eat it."

"Well, if he really wants to help us, he should start teaching us to sing." Gerard sighed. "We still sound awful. And we'll sound worse if we don't go to bed right now."

After they were gone Erik remained motionless in the shadows for a little while, thinking. The conversation he had just overheard had been… enlightening. He didn't usually bother finding out what people thought of him because in most cases their thoughts only consisted of: Aaaargh! But as he had just found out, human beings were sometimes capable of more complex emotions. Here's what he and these boys had in common: they weren't sure they were on his side; he wasn't sure of that either.

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The next night the cellars echoed with a girl's song for the fourth time that week.

_There__'__s a beauty already inside of you,_

_There__'__s a difference that only you__'__ll make_

_Every place that you turn brings you somewhere new_

_Finding hope every step that you take._

_And you dance and you dance in an endless flow_

_In the grace of a perfect design_

_Stepping out of the dark and into the glow_

_And the whole world will see when you shine!_

_You can shine!_

When the song finally ended, she dropped back in her chair slightly flushed and still catching her breath. He deliberately fixed his eyes on her face.

_Don__'__t look down. Don__'__t look down. _

He looked anyway.

He had been careful not to stare at certain parts of Christine's body, too, but with Meg the problem was… bigger.

He had to mentally slap himself. What was before his eyes was not a proper sight for a man in his current situation. Despite some ridiculous speculation on the matter he was not, in fact, a virgin at 39. He had absent-mindedly led Christine to believe that when he had told her he was denied the joys of the flesh but that wasn't exactly what he had meant. He was familiar with the "ladies of the night", although he was not particularly proud of it. And it wasn't like he had enjoyed it much either. The very fact that he was forced to seek their services and hide his face even from women he paid for sex so they wouldn't run away was another reminder of how miserable his life was. But a man had needs.

He realized Meg had been happily chattering about something foer the past minute but he hadn't been paying attention. Just as he decided to try to catch up, she let her last sentence trail away. She had seen the look in his eyes and realized he wasn't listening. Damn. He wondered how well she could read him and whether she would get scared and run away. Instead, she rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands and watched him from under a few blonde strands of hair.

"What are you thinking?"

"You… need more support from your diaphragm when you sing, you sound too breathless."

She burst out laughing.

"Oh, please! You weren't thinking about my diaphragm. And you'll need a bigger mask to hide that blush."

He looked positively shocked.

"You automatically assumed I was completely innocent, didn't you? Well… I'm a ballerina, a lot of boys like me. It was bound to happen… Erik, what? Will you stop staring at me?" she frowned. "Well, I'm not about to sit here and make excuses to you of all people!"

When she stood up to leave, he finally got himself together enough to grab her hand.

"Meg, wait. I was just surprised. You will have to do a lot more than sleep with a boy to be considered a sinner, especially next to me. I'm sorry I reacted like that."

She gave him an angry look.

"You made me feel like…"

"And you embarrassed me."

"God forbid, M. Phantom! And I didn't know you were one of those men who wouldn't go near a girl unless she was a virgin."

"I can assure you that is not the case."

She looked up at him and mostly saw his chin. He was practically on top of her. Of course, before she could even think that she didn't particularly dislike the situation, he took a step back and cleared his throat.

"We'd better get back, you have an early rehearsal tomorrow."

She secretly sighed and rolled her eyes.

_And you should probably be thankful you__'__re not wearing tight trousers today._


	8. Perceptions of goodness and beauty

**Chapter 7**

**Perceptions of goodness and beauty**

It was a hot day in March and the sun shone brightly on the terrace where two brothers drank coffee, enjoying a rare moment together, free of any working engagements.

Jaques and Albert Chevalier had always been close despite their different mothers and an age difference of seventeen years and different mothers. Jaques, whose job as a chief of the police department was rather mentally exhausting, found that a day spent with his little brother tended to lighten his mood for a week ahead.

"So how is it coming?" Jaques asked, referring to the resurrection of the Opera Populaire which seemed to dominate his brother's thoughts lately.

"It's coming…" Albert answered a little hesitantly. "I think we'll make it but… Jaques, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about but if I do, the position I'll put you in will be… very difficult."

Jaques silently put his coffee down waiting for his brother to continue. Albert did so after a small pause to gather his thoughts.

"When I was a little boy you were the first one to teach me that evil always springs from other evil and that society creates its own monsters. You always said that it was the policeman's job to capture criminals but it was everyone's job to prevent evil from happening or at least try to correct it once it's happened. What if I told you that I might have a chance to correct what I consider a great evil but it would mean helping a criminal avoid punishment. And I would need your help to do it."

Jaques looked surprised, even shocked.

"Albert… what have you gotten yourself into?"

"I know how it sounds and I didn't want to tell you but the current situation can't go on forever. Jaques… I really believe that in this particular case, just this once, I need to do something wrong in order to do something right… This person, he's… kind of a friend."

"You do realize that I cannot ignore what you're telling me right now? You do realize that if you don't stop, I will have to report this."

Albert did realize. He had thought very hard about this. But each day all Meg could talk about was Erik and the way she described him in addition to his own impression of the man had convinced him he had to do something. He just wasn't sure if this was the right thing.

"I have no choice. I feel like I'm betraying him but I really believe that after you've heard the whole story, you'll see things from my point of view. It's about the Phantom of the Opera."

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"Isn't wearing that mask a little uncomfortable?" Meg asked.

She was sitting in his lair, looking at some sketches for costumes he had drawn while he was bored.

"Because it wouldn't matter to me if you took it off. You know, Albert would love these; it's a bit like his style but more complex." She commented, pretending she hadn't noticed the look he was giving her like she had grown an extra head.

"I'm used to it." He said icily.

His tone made her look up.

"You think I'm saying this just because I want to goggle at your face, don't you? You really aren't right in the head."

She looked back down.

There was a long silence.

"I don't want you to see me like that."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why! It's not like I would laugh, or point or run away."

"I can't even stand to look myself in the mirror!"

"Um, Erik, I've seen your face when… well, at the premiere of Don Juan. In retrospect, it wasn't that bad."

"Is that why the whole crowd screamed?"

"I beg your pardon but we were all just a little unprepared. Not to mention that when a lot of people gather together they tend to scream in general. Haven't you noticed? And I don't think anyone would have been that shocked if they knew they were about to see anything different from a standard face. You have to count the element of surprise. If I came behind your back in a dark alley you would still jump despite the fact that there's nothing scary about me."

She had stood up and was now pacing in front of him. He almost felt amused.

"Meg, this is all very sweet of you to say but it's very unconvincing. I have seen enough reactions to my face to know there is only one way to react. What is behind this mask is repulsive."

"No, it's not! Erik…" she paused and sat back down, trying to find the right way to phrase her thoughts so he would understand her. "You're an educated man; you know the idea of beauty has changed greatly over the years. This is because beauty is an entirely human concept. There is no beauty or ugliness in nature. It's just an idea in people's heads and ideas change. I think that if you could ask nature it would say that everything it creates is beautiful. We, humans just don't always see that. Now I know this is such a trivial thing to say but love is what brings out the beauty in everything. Love in general. You can love the sunrise or a place or a person and you don't think even for a moment that they aren't beautiful. That's all love really is – starting to realize just how beautiful all things are. And sometimes, with enough effort you can even make others realize that too. And while you can't really change the sunrise, the good thing about people is that they do become more beautiful when they are loved. I mean this in a completely non-metaphorical way. Just the way a girl smiles and blushes in the presence of her beloved can make looking at her more pleasant."

It crossed Erik's mind that she was smiling and blushing right now and she did look very beautiful. He didn't dare say it though. If she took it as flirting she might decide she wasn't safe with him. It occurred to him for the first time that he might actually mean it as flirting. He wasn't entirely sure what he felt for Meg. Things had been much simpler with Christine. He had been a lot more confident with her. But that was probably because he was hiding behind the persona of the Angel of Music…

He cleared his throat.

"Thank you, I… would still like to keep the mask on for the benefit of us both. But thank you."

She shook her head and murmured 'Silly man' before getting back to the sketches.


	9. Disruptions

**Chapter 8**

**Disruptions**

"Erik!" Meg whispered urgently getting out of the boat before it reached the shore and running the remaining distance trough the water. "Erik! Please, it's urgent…"

She looked around. What if he wasn't here and he came back just as the police reached his home?

A few moments later he appeared from behind a curtain. She had obviously caught him unprepared because he had only managed to throw on a shirt over his trousers and although his mask was on he hadn't had time for the wig. So, the Phantom didn't go around in formal wear all the time after all. She stared at him and he actually blushed. Which would have made her burst into a fit of giggles if she wasn't in such a hurry.

"What by the devil have you been doing?" he exclaimed, taking in the wet dress that was… um, well, clinging to her in a rather interesting way. "What's wrong?"

"The police are here! They're going to search the theatre. You have to get out of here!"

He froze for a moment, then spurred into action, gathering the sheets containing his latest work.

"You should go back right now." He shouted over his shoulder. "They mustn't associate you with me. Get out of here."

"No, I'm coming with you."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"I'm not ridiculous, I'm rational! I'm all wet and dirty, they'll know where I've been."

She strode to him and took a firm hold of his arm.

"Sorry, M. but you'll have to drag me with you. At least this way I'll know you won't do something foolish."

He tried to come up with an argument but seemed unable to at the moment.

"All right, come then." He said finally grabbing her hand.

He had no intention to run again unless it was completely necessary. He carefully and quietly got them to his favorite shadowy corners above the stage where they could listen to the conversation that was taking place below.

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The cast of the Opera Populair had been in the middle of rehearsal when a group of police officers burst in.

"We received a word that a wanted criminal might be hiding inside this opera house. We're here to check things." Jaques Chevalier explained almost apologetically. "Please, call the manager."

Two minutes later Albert ran on stage. Meg who had been the one to volunteer to call him was not with him for some reason.

"To what do I owe the visit?" the young manager asked still a little breathless, trying to read his brother's expression.

"We received an anonymous note, saying that there have been sightings of the Phantom." Jaques answered.

"I have heard of no such thing." Albert said firmly looking at each member of the cast in turn, trying to guess which one of them had sent the note. He had known it would happen sooner or later but he felt disappointed all the same.

"Still, we have to check." Jaques sighed.

"What do you intent to do, M., search the whole opera?" Mme Giry stepped forward. "It's huge and full of hideouts. I'm afraid you won't find anything, even if there is something to find."

"He used to hide in the cellars madam so we can at least search there."

She managed to keep her composure on the outside but Albert could tell just how distressed she was by the way she clutched her cane. If they went down now they would find exactly what they were looking for. Mme Giry had probably guessed that Meg had gone to warn the Phantom but they could not make his domain magically disappear. The police already knew where it was. If they found evidence that he was there, they would never leave the opera alone until they caught him… And Meg could be blamed by association. Curse whoever had tipped them off. Because of this, the opera might never open again and if the police found out that he was writing friendly notes to the Phantom the whole time… It had been naïve trusting his cast that much!

"But hasn't any of you seen anything strange? Anything that would give us a clue where to look?" one policemen asked.

To Albert's relief the cast stayed silent, just throwing looks at each other and stepping from foot to foot.

"Excuse me, M. …" the voice came from the back rows of the chorus. Gaston Simon came forward. "I was the one who sent you the note."

Everyone turned to stare at him as one. The boy who was blond and very childish looking threw a nervous look around. Some of the stares he was receiving weren't very friendly. He looked back at Jaques Chevalier.

"I'm afraid it was a false alarm, M. You see, I'm on the stage workers' team and until a few days ago our ropes kept breaking and I got spooked. I thought it might be the Phantom playing tricks on us. But it turned out the ropes themselves were corrupted. We started buying them from a different place and now everything is all right."

The explanation caused several different reactions among the policemen. Some seemed angry for being called for no reason, some looked amused by the story and some were still looking suspicious. Could anyone possibly buy that, Albert thought. Jaques' expression was that of a poker player. He knew the boy was lying. So did the rest of the cast but they kept their silence.

"Can you prove that you're the one who sent us the note?" one of the policemen asked finally.

Gaston nodded and then proceeded to recite what he had written word for word. There was a collective sigh of relief when the chief of police nodded.

"That solves it then. There is no need to search. We'll leave you to your rehearsal now."

On the way out Jaques turned and gave Albert a very complex look that only his brother could decipher. There was concern in it as well as a dose of admiration. The last had been induced by the loyalty of the members of the cast. Not for the first time, Jaques thought that if he wasn't such a practical man, he would have believed his brother to have magical powers.

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Erik stood frozen on the spot unable to believe what had just happened. About thirty people had just lied to the police on his behalf and they had done it for the love of one man.

_I__'__m really glad I didn__'__t let you fall off that bridge, Albert._

Meg turned to look back at him and that's when he realized he had wrapped his arms around her. Well, she had been about to catch her death in that wet dress and the gesture had come so naturally he hadn't even registered what he was doing. She obviously didn't mind because she was grinning like crazy.

"You see? They want you here! So I never want to hear 'nobody wants me' ever again!"

"Don't be ridiculous. They don't want me, Meg. They want Albert. They didn't want him to get in trouble... But one way or another, we got lucky today."

"You won't play some prank on the boy who wrote the note, will you?"

"No. But he'd better not do such a thing again."

"Erik… If the police ever stop looking for you, would you start over and promise to never take a human life again?"

"I don't see much chance of the police-"

"But if they did!"

"You want me to promise you I'll never kill again."

"Yes. Unless it's absolutely the only thing that would save your life or one of your friends'."

There was a long silence.

"I promise."

It was hard to say no to a beautiful woman in a wet dress wrapped in your arms.


	10. All I ask of you

**Chapter 9**

**All I ask of you**

Albert Chevalier closed his eyes, remembering the conversation and wondering if the plan would work.

"_Albert, I will ask you one last time, are you certain this man deserves this chance we are about to give him? Are you completely sure he will never again commit a murder or threaten society in any way?"_

"_I__'__m sure!" Albert answered without hesitation, and once again his almost magical power of persuasion made his brother cast the doubts aside. _

"_Then I have found a way to help him."_

The next morning all of Paris had stared with disbelieving eyes at the front page of their morning paper. The headline read: _The Phantom of the Opera Framed!_

_Remy Artois, a 43-year-old former chorus singer in the recently restored Opera Populaire was killed in a police chase last week after strangling his lover, Jiselle Lebeu also a former employee in the same opera. New evidence shows Artois to be the man behind the two murders formerly believed to be the doing of the mysterious Phantom of the Opera. Letters which prove his guilt were found by the police in his apartment. Neighbors confirm that Artois drank a lot and was often violent. Joseph Bouquet, the first victim in the opera, whose death was initially considered an accident and then put on the Phantom__'__s bill, turned out to be a rival for Giselle__'__s heart. Hanging him on stage while she danced was meant to be a kind of a demonstration. The letters also suggest that the opera principal Piangi was killed out of envy for his fame and better voice. Artois goes on to describe how he found him tied up and gagged after the Phantom had taken his place on stage and he used the opportunity presented to him by fate to kill him, framing the Phantom. _

_According to the chief of the police, Jaques Chevalier, the great fire that burned down the opera house could be attributed to a simple accident, caused by a frightened man who was being wrongly accused and chased by a mob of people. The question remains, have we been unfair to the Phantom of the Opera? _

Three days later there was an article in the same paper titled: _Celebrated police chief Jaques Chevalier retiring. _

"Would anyone buy this?" Albert asked suspiciously.

"Most of my people won't." Jaques shrugged. "But as far as they're concerned, both the Phantom and Artois are dead. When it turns out that one of them isn't, it would be too late."

"I didn't mean for you to quit your job."

"Once you have stepped over the law you can't be a policeman any more. It was time for me to retire anyway; the job was getting to me. I only hope your friend doesn't disappoint us."

"I hope so, too." Albert sighed.

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Erik put the paper down and looked incredulously at Meg who was practically bouncing up and down in front of him.

"How did that… Who…"

"Albert and his brother." she interrupted his stuttering. "He's giving you a chance to start anew. And he asked me to deliver this." She handed him a sealed envelope. "This man is just too good to be true. Maybe God has sent you an angel."

"A little late." Erik murmured.

To Meg's mild surprise he stood up and started pacing restlessly in front of the harmonium. Now what was his problem? Just when she had expected him to be happy. Obviously something was wrong. With the situation or with him, she wasn't sure yet.

"Erik, do you realize what this means?" she ventured.

"It means nothing, Meg."

"How can you say that! The police are no longer looking for you; you can come out now and…"

"Of course. Your big-blue-eyed little prince got two murders off my bill and that solves everything? He has saved me and now we all live happily ever after? I don't think so, Meg. It never mattered whether I did something or not! I was punished for nothing long before the first man I killed. After that they just had a real reason to punish me but it didn't make much of a difference to me! You think society will suddenly accept me? Then you have less of a brain than I thought."

Meg's cheeks turned red in anger.

"Well, I won't take insults to my intelligence from a man who's obviously too blinded by hate to see reason and too scared to even try being happy because being miserable is so much simpler!"

"I tried being happy!" he shouted. "With Christine!"

"One girl! You've loved one girl in your life and she said no! Do you realize that the rest of us usually search a lot longer and receive a lot more negative answers before we find what we're looking for or declare that this is it, we've given up on love altogether?"

"She was the only one who trusted me!"

"And she only did so because she was naïve! I love Christine but what normal woman would believe a mysterious man that seems to spy on her to be an Angel of Music?! It wasn't even real love! You picked her because you could manipulate her. And because of her beautiful voice and because she was pretty! You two have never even had a real conversation! She was a dream to you, not a real person and to her you were a supernatural creature!"

He was shaking with anger at that point. He grabbed her wrist with one hand and pulled off his mask with the other, his face inches from her.

"Look at me! What else could I have done but manipulate her? Waltz into her room with flowers and candy to have her treat me with either fear and disgust or pity? I had to be her master, her tutor, I had to make her respect and adore me! I have never had another chance at being loved!"

"You have one now and you're wasting it." Meg said trough gritted teeth.

He blinked and let go, stepping back.

"You don't realize what a foolish thing you just said. You're a silly child who thinks she's living in a fairytale. You don't see reality. I am not going to turn into a beautiful prince, Meg. Now leave."

Meg wanted to slap him. Anger boiled within her, both at him and at the circumstances that had made him what he was. Why was it so easy to do wrong and so hard to correct it?

"I'm fine where I am, thank you." She said firmly.

"You don't belong here." He stated turning his back to her.

"Oh? And Christine did?"

"Of course she didn't." He waved his hand. "It was foolish of me to believe… No one belongs here but me. Sometimes I don't even know whether I live in this place or it lives in me. There's no coming out of one's own mind and mine's a pit. It's mostly filled with darkness and fear. Not much room for love."

"Silly me. I really somehow convinced myself you loved me. I guess that on top of not having Christine's talent I'm also stupid. So you don't love me at all, do you? Then can I at least borrow some of your depressing music so I could lock myself in my room and play it?"

He whirled around and strode to her, pinning her to the wall. Which, in a less serious situation, she would have even enjoyed. His intimidation tactics were definitely not working on her.

"You want to stay here?" he shouted. "You want to spend the night in this dungeon? Is this the man you would willingly go to bed with? Is this the face you want to see when you wake up?"

Meg calmly returned his look.

"Yes. It's exactly the face I want to see when I wake up. Your face."

His blue eyes locked with her brown ones. He was the first to look away.

"You're impossible. Simply impossible." He murmured, letting go of her again to go sit by the lake, head in his hands, still going on about how impossible she was.

She felt the sudden urge to laugh. After all, he was just a man. Stubborn as most individuals of his gender. What he needed was a woman to knock some sense into his thick head. But gently, so she wouldn't disturb the spiders sleeping in the part of his brain where his common sense ought to be.

Not to mention that this was Erik. He just loved theatrics so much that sometimes he believed his own little performances. Which would have been fine if the only thing he managed to convince himself of wasn't his own doom. For a moment even she had fallen for it.

Crossing the distance between them, she sat beside him on the stone floor with her legs crossed and started humming a familiar song, at first just the melody, then the words, making it sound overly dramatic on purpose.

_No more talk of darkness,_

_Forget these wide-eyed fears,_

_I__'__m here, nothing can harm you,_

_My words will warm and calm you._

_Let me be your freedom,_

_Let daylight dry your tears,_

_I__'__m here, with you, beside you,_

_To guard you and to guide you…_

"Come on, Erik, you're the better singer here, help me out."

He was torn between laughing and getting more depressed. It was their song. And he hated hearing it… or maybe he hated the fact that he wasn't part of the duet. In spite of himself, he hummed the next line.

_Then say you__'__ll share with me one love, one lifetime._

_Say the word and I will follow you._ Meg replied.

_Share each day with me, each night, each morning…_

_Say you love me._ Erik sang, turning to her.

_You know I do._ She shrugged.

_Love me, that__'__s all I ask of you._ They finished together before their lips met.


	11. Decisions

**Chapter 10**

**Decisions**

Meg woke up alone in the big ridiculously swan-shaped bed in the Phantom's lair and frowned. Something was wrong because she had definitely not fallen asleep alone in there and the slow melancholy tune coming from the harmonium was not a good sign.

"I swear, if he says something along the lines of 'last night should not have happened'…"

"Last night should not have happened." Erik said about twenty seconds later after she had asked what on earth he was brooding about this time.

Meg slapped her forehead and felt like screaming.

"Erik," she began with forced calmness "I love you but I swear to God, if you keep going like this I will have to hit you. Hard. And I find it hard to believe you regret last night when you're sitting at your organ shirtless and you're practically showing off with the overly complicated thing you just played. Don't even try to tell me it's not an attempt to impress me."

He sighed and started looking for his shirt which he had thrown God knows where the previous night.

"You don't understand, Meg! Things won't be as you imagine them. If you're with me you'll be an outcast too. I will make you miserable."

"You're making me miserable right now. But you can remedy that by marching up there and taking things into these supposedly ingenious hands of yours because otherwise this opera house is going down. Albert can't manage on his own, he needs your help."

"What do you want from me? I cannot save the opera any more than I can save myself. Go and plead with your young handsome knight who is waiting for you up there, maybe he can."

This time she did slap him.

"How dare you! I have not so much as looked at him in a romantic way! I deliberately stood away from him, although I enjoy his company, just to show how devoted I was to you! You know, I've had enough of your whining. I'm going back up and if you're really that smart you'll spend the time you have alone rethinking your attitude. What exactly do you want? You have a girl who loves you a friend who's willing to risk his well-being for you and the chance to avoid punishment for crimes you would have been hung for! When you're ready, I'll be there. But you're right, I can't live like this. If you really won't change, I don't want to see you again!"

He had his back to her as she dressed, got into the boat and glided angrily away. An even more melancholy tune followed in her wake.

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It had been two days since she had left.

Erik tapped his fingers on the smooth surface of the organ, deep in thought. Surprisingly, he had gotten on his own nerves playing depressing music.

_You see true beauty when you love… _

The list of people he considered himself fond of was very short. But after much analyzing, he thought he saw what she had meant. He was a genius after all.

It was like this: Albert's humming as he wandered around with a hammer and a bag of nails was almost completely out of tune but it was so enthusiastic and cheerful it made you want to sing along just as out of tune. Which was a strange desire for a musical genius like Erik.

Mme Giry's lullabies when Meg had been young were sweet enough to bring tears to your eyes just as easily as Christine's best performances.

And when he remembered Meg's voice, he wanted to hear it. With all of its imperfections. He wanted it, exactly as it was.

Was it the same for her? Had she memorized every line of his face, every imperfection because they were as beautiful to her as the little faults of her voice were beautiful to him? The idea of her thinking of him with as much appreciation as he had just thought of her was more than just pleasant. Was it possible? True, her voice could not be considered ugly in any circumstances while the same thing could not be said about his face. But then again maybe she had more practice with love to overcome bigger things.

Could he do the same thing? Maybe he could listen to these amateur singers who now seemed pathetic to him and look for that hidden charm. And then he would find a way to show just that to the audience.

Well, it would be a better apology to Meg than any other.

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He grabbed a blank music sheet and set to work.

Erik had opened the note Albert had sent him trough Meg shortly after she was gone but hadn't responded in any way until now. At first he hadn't been in the mood and later… well, to tell the truth, he hadn't had the courage.

The note itself was short and to the point. There was no mistaking the meaning. And yet Erik had kept turning the paper over, looking for the catch, maybe a paragraph written in very small script or some kind of evidence that this was a joke.

The note read:

_Dear Erik,_

_The people of Paris still consider you dead but your name has been cleared and the sympathies of the public seem to be with you. I think now would be a good time for you to come out of the shadows. I have a business proposal for you. I would like to offer you the position of music director here at the Opera Populaire. If our gamble pays off and the opera is successfully reopened, you will be paid a salary of 35 000 franks. In order for that to happen I will need your help in training our cast members. Find me and let me know._

_Albert_

Well, he had finally decided to find him. Albert was on the roof of the opera house that night. Erik watched silently behind a statue the young man who was slowly pacing with hands in his pockets and whistling.

What was it about this boy that you just couldn't avoid liking him? He was a talented designer but incurably naïve. How he had managed to keep his business running was a mystery. Maybe it was because there were always people around him willing to help forward his plans and do the things he was unfit for while all he really had to do was Mean Well. And he was so good at Being Good and Meaning Well that it overpowered any flaws he had.

Albert saw him just as he stepped out of the shadows and grinned.

"Finally. So, you're here."

"Obviously."

"Have you decided to accept my offer?"

"I have a question."

"Why?"

Erik frowned.

"Why what?"

"Isn't that your question? Why?"

"Oh… Yes. Why?"

Albert shrugged.

"It felt right."

Erik paced back and forth for a minute before stopping and fixing the other man with a rather dark stare.

"But I killed them. And you and your brother arranged this whole illegal and very dangerous staging to ensure that I get dry out of the water? Where is the catch?"

"You'll have to endure my cast's singing. Isn't that punishment enough?"

The corners of Erik's mouth twitched before he became serious again.

"Did you think that by showing me this "great act of kindness" I would suddenly realize that human beings are not such cruel and disgusting creatures and become a better man?"

"Something like that, yes." Albert confessed. "Did it work?"

Erik hesitated.

"I don't know. But… I will teach your… singers. If they can be taught at all. After that… we'll see."

"Fair enough." Albert shrugged. "There's still the problem with the score…"

"I'm working on something. But that leads me to another question…"

"Yes?"

"Meg."

Albert stared in surprise.

"Meg? What about Meg?"

"What are your feelings for her?"

"Oh, dear. I see." Albert laughed which caused Erik to look at him almost murderously. "Meg is my friend."

"Nothing more?"

Albert sighed.

"Look… I know you love her. If I didn't know that, I might have fallen in love with her myself. She's an incredible young woman. But I'm not like you. I'm too young and too carefree for so much drama. My great love is still somewhere in the future. Things are just not so… fatal for me. Besides… You're all she ever talks about; I don't think there's any mistaking her feelings."

The Phantom of the Opera blushing was a sight to behold, Albert thought to himself.

"I still don't understand you." Erik said shaking his head.

"You don't have to. I am what I am. I have always had a very happy life and I have always thought helping others achieve the same was a way of saying thank you."

Erik nodded slowly.

"And how can I say than you?"

"I would also love to find out what you're working on."

"As a matter of fact… you're welcome down. The costumes can use an extra designer."


	12. The Phantom's nondepressing opera

**Chapter 11**

**The Phantom****'****s non-depressing opera**

Meg moved carefully down the passageway, trying not to slip on the puddles of water on the stone floor and not to step on a rat.

_I really need to ask Erik to redecorate here. We__'__ve been using this route all the time lately anyway._

She was half-angry with herself. She hadn't been able to bear not seeing him for long. Sand she was worried he might depress himself beyond the point of no return.

Meg had noticed that the creepiness of the corridor depended very much on her mood. She had been very happy the last time she had come here and then it had seemed a lot brighter. Now she was worried and it seemed a lot gloomier and paranoia-inducing. Something touched her shoulder and she jumped up and whirled around. She found herself face to face with Erik. For a moment she was too speechless to do anything but stare at him.

His face was filled with _some_ emotion but she couldn't determine right away whether it was good or bad. Had he been coming to get her?

"Come on," he said taking her by the hand. She followed him silently, getting more worried by the minute.

"Erik, has something… happened?"

"A lot of things… Oh!" he said when they had reached the lair. "I forgot. These are for you."

She goggled at the wild flowers she hadn't noticed him carrying until now.

"Err… Thank you…"

"You have to thank Albert, too, to be honest. He was the one I made wonder trough hills and farmlands for these."

"Er… Erik, I…"

"Don't say anything before you hear this."

'This' turned out to be the old fairytale "Beauty and the beast" told trough music and song. But it was too light to be called an opera. Meg didn't know exactly what it was but she fell in love with it right away.

"Well?"

She shook her head.

"Erik, it's… It's perfect! It's completely… not-depressing! I can't believe you wrote this."

"Well, it's not exactly… I wish I could have…"

"It's brilliant. It's the most brilliant thing you've ever written. Because it's so simple that we could actually perform it and not look like complete amateurs. It's what will make us look and sound our best. I… Thank you. Thank you so much."

He smiled and nodded.

"It's as much your doing as it's mine. Now… There's one more thing we need to clear up. Meg… You see, I have tried my best to change. I'm not sure what's become of it, you'll be the judge of that. But my question is… Do you still love me?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"Who's asking? Erik or the Phantom of the Opera? It's a little hard to tell you apart when you're both wearing a mask."

Erik sighed. He had known it would probably come to this. He took the mask off, along with the wig.

"It's me. The Phantom's gone for a walk. This is what you're buying."

She smiled and shrugged.

"Oh, he'll be back but I'm hoping he'll behave. This way I get two at the price of one."

He burst into laughter and started kissing her but she put a finger in front of her lips.

"Just so you know, if tomorrow I hear one more 'last night should not have happened'…"

He shook his head.

"No, I promise. I'm over being dramatic. Well… most of the time."

She chuckled.

"Or at least some of the time." Erik amended, theatrically frowning in thought. "Or at least…"

"You're asking for a quick bath in the lake!" Meg warned him.

"You think?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes. "Maybe you're right. Have I ever showed you where I take baths?"

"You mean there's a place with clean water in here?"

"Well, do I usually smell like a canal? Come on, I'll show you."

That might be fun, Meg thought.

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"It was a beautiful gala. It made the Opera Populaire very famous again. Three years later Albert got married to a beautiful girl and was very happy. He was manager of the Opera Populaire for many years until he moved to England with his family. Unfortunately, not long after his departure, the opera was closed again. But I have no doubt it will be reopened some day."

"And you and grandpa?" Meg's twelve-year-old granddaughter Juliet asked.

"We got married after the gala and left to see new places together. Your grandpa wrote librettos for many operas around the world. We had your papa and then two beautiful granddaughters." she looked lovingly at Juliet and her younger sister, Christine, who was only just a baby. She had been born a week after Christine Daae's death."

"Nice story." said a voice behind her.

"I like it too." Juliet agreed, smiling at her grandfather who had just entered the room.

"Did you do what you went out to do?" meg asked.

"What did you go out to do, grandpa?"

"I went to return something to an old friend. A lady I knew long ago. I wish I had done it earlier…"

"Christine Daae!" Juliet whispered, her eyes wide with excitement.

"I hope your grandmother doesn't mind. And I hope she knows I have never loved anyone as I love her."

"I know." Meg said with a smile. "Did you see Raoul?"

"I saw him. He didn't see me. I couldn't make myself talk to him."

"I know what you mean. I saw him today, too."

"You went to the auction, didn't you? I told you you shouldn't. These people are making a show of our lives."

"More like a fairytale. There's no need to get angry. Everyone loves a little mystery, even if things didn't exactly happen as they say."

"I saw Raoul bought the music box. I don't mind. It's place is at Christine's grave. It's a thing of the past for me."

"Poor Raoul." Meg sighed.

"Yes. But you know what rumors I heard? His son wants to reopen the Opera Populaire."

Meg laughed in surprise and delight.

"Maybe you should write an opera for the Gala again."

"Maybe I should use your story."

"'The Phantom of the Opera' by the Phantom himself. It's sure to have great success."

They laughed together as they exited the room quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping baby. Their older granddaughter watched them with a smile, then grabbed a notebook and a pencil and started to write in her childish script.

_**The Phantom of the Opera**_

_**The story of Erik and Meg**_

**Fin**


End file.
